


Stress Relief

by clumsycopy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Choking, Edging, F/M, Hand & Finger Kink, Hint: Addams Family, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Kylo Ren Has Big Sexy Hands, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering, gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clumsycopy/pseuds/clumsycopy
Summary: Kylo Ren leaves you a gift to make it easier being apart from him.
Relationships: Ben Solo/Reader, Ben Solo/You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Kudos: 25





	Stress Relief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meowageddon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowageddon/gifts).



> This is quick and raw, wrote it on a whim, inspired by an idea on a Discord sever, hope you enjoy the ride.

“Don’t open this until I’ve left.” Kylo pushes the latch of his mask and the mechanism closes, encasing his face with a hydraulic hiss.

You shake the crate that’s clutched between your hands, hoping to earn a hint of its content. “When will you return, Commander?”

“I don’t know. One week, maybe longer. This,” he taps the container with his index finger, “should keep you busy.”

Kylo considers you for another moment, lifting a hand towards you, but after a pause he lowers it to his side.

“I hope your mission is successful, sir,” you offer.

“I will see you when I return.” The Commander walks past you, towards the docking bay, leaving you alone on the now barren hallway.

Rushing to your quarters, you bolt through the door. Shoes off, pants off, you stand in your bedroom, kneeling over your bed, staring at the box in front of you. A metal bevel frames the lid, chromed just like the engravings on Kylo Ren’s mask.

Holding the base with one hand, you lift the top with another, and as it opens, your heartbeat soars. You’re pretty sure you’re not supposed to feel your heart beat with your throat, and that dark, fading edges on your vision are not a good sign. But it’s all a fair price to pay to know what your Commander has left to you.

A hand?

It sits nested between soft, expensive looking foam, the limb cut short a few inches above the wrist. A leather glove--identical to Kylo’s--covers the hand, revealing nothing about its make. You run your knuckles across it and to your surprise, not to your horror, it  _ stirs _ .

The mattress bounces when you jump back, hurling the contents of your gift to the floor. You shuffle to the edge of the bed, peering across its threshold and hoping the hand is not broken.

It’s not. Not at all.

It’s splayed open like a twisted version of a spider, long, thick fingers bent and strong, sustaining the palm a few inches above the ground, the wrist pointing at a 45º degree angle. You know it’s impossible, but you feel observed, scrutinized by that… thing.

You make the mistake of leaning closer.

The hand bends and jumps forward, latching to your face.    
  


Screaming is futile as you spasm on the bed, wrapping both wrists around the invader, pulling with all your strength. You might as well be doing nothing. It’s as big as Kylo’s, palm obscuring most of your face, the span of its thumb and little finger enough to reach your cheekbones with ease.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, instead finding its way to press against the palm that’s smothering you, tasting the pungent flavour of the leather.

_ Fuck, it tastes like him too _ .

Small rivulets of saliva leak out of the tip of your tongue, smearing across your chin and lower lip. The hand crawls a few inches down, sliding two large fingers inside your waiting mouth. A wet, gurgling sound echoes at the back of your throat, increasing in frequency as the fingers track back and forth over the sensitive area.

A feedback loop initiates, as the gagging sounds turn you on, making you clench, which makes you moan, opening your throat a little more and the hand seizing the newfound space to choke you further.

The pliant flesh at the apex of your thighs is now damp, underwear saturated with your arousal.

You seal your lips around the intruder, hollowing your cheeks as you suck on the detached hand. If you close your eyes, you can picture Kylo hovering above you, one hand on your mouth, the other wrapped around his cock, stroking it raw.

_ This will do _ .

The thing slides out of you with a sharp  _ pop _ , still connected by an arched string of saliva. It smears the wetness around your lower jaw, coating your face with the viscous substance. You look down at it, sitting now so  _ near _ your spread legs.

“Please?” Seems reasonable to ask, you’re not sure if it can understand you, but it’s worth a shot.

It crawls backwards.

“Wait! Please, make me cum. Fuck me, scramble my insides, will you?” Desperate need is palpable on your voice, composure or dignity flung to outer space, but you don’t care.

There’s only so much you can do by yourself without your Commander. Now, with this generous gift he has bestowed upon you, the possibilities are  _ intriguing _ at the very least.

A corner of your mouth lifts in a half-smile as the thing crawls closer.

Then, it leaps again, wrapping around your throat. Blood rushes through the tunnels of your ears; a roaring waterfall. Pressure constricts the column of your neck, binding each dwindling breath to a guaranteed demise.

Darkness blooms in splotches over the borders of your vision, your whole body shuddering with a rising flutter of euphoria. One by one, your limbs relax, slackness tingling from your shoulders to your fingers, hips, thighs, calves, ankles.

Your legs dangle open to the sides, parting to expose your drenched undergarments.

The hand eases off the grasp on your throat, leaving behind nascent bruises where it once touched you. It creeps down your chest, lighting a trail of agonizing fire on your body. When it arrives at your navel, two fingers hook under the pitiful cloth that still insists in covering you, tearing it apart.

A string of pants exhale out of your mouth, chest heaving with anticipation, drops of sweat cascading down your skull, trailing the back of your neck.

_ Come on, come on, just touch me already. _

With no warning, the hand traps your clit between the pad of its thumb and index finger, pinching it so hard you’re sure your soul ejects out of your body.

Sparks of fervid pleasure burn across every unfortunate nerve ending you possess, flaring up and down, threading the bounds of pain and bliss, always leaving you guessing. Sob after sob rackets out of your chest, but you’re moaning and crying and begging. For mercy, for more, for it to never stop.

Once you’re on the verge of cumming, it  _ stops. _

“No! Nonono, please, let me cum! I was so close,” your voice is shredded, throat still sore, tongue aching due to how hard you were clenching your teeth, nearly biting it off.

The hand toys your clit with its thumb, employing slow, deliberate strokes to provoke a new flourish of arousal. Your hips lift off the bed, yearning for more friction, but everytime you move the thing pulls away, punishing you with the diminishment of your budding release.

You give up, keeping your body planted on the mattress, creasing the soft sheets between your balled fists when you feel the urge to move again. Wetness trickles down your heat, dripping over the curve of your ass, coating your skin in a sheer, glistening layer.

The pathway from your brain to your mouth is mal-functioning; it’s impossible to form a coherent sentence, words convolving into high-pitched, pained moans. Two fingers glide down your compliant cunt, parting your lips open, tugging them until tendrils of pain shoot up your spine. For all you care, you’ll let it tear you, as long as it makes you cum.

Its middle and index finger circle your entrance, gathering the wetness that never seems to run out, spreading it over your clit as well.

“Stars, please, fuck me already!” you wail.

You crane your neck to look in front of you, a pained whimper bubbling in your throat at the sudden loss. Before you can do anything else, the hand pushes inside you, keeping your clit under its thumb, curling two fingers as it drags across your front walls. A staccato of cries tears out of your parted mouth, rising in pitch every time the thing drives in and out of you.

Sparks of emerging rapture crackle on your skin, kindling fire all over your flesh.

It should be stupid how just two fingers fill you up so well, breaking apart the initial tightness of your body, molding you to its will. Looking at the severed wrist that’s hovering between your legs, your mouth salivates at the sheer size of it. You can wrap two hands around it and still not cover its circumference completely. 

Adding a third finger and a fourth finger, the hand starts twisting in and out of your now sore opening, stretching your cunt almost to its limit. Your thighs quake with each powerful thrust of the thing, followed by wet, obscene noises as it fucks you deeper.

Lights start to flutter, or maybe you’re losing your mind, because you swear they’re blinking, casting you in a stroboscopic hallucination. The hand presses further into your core, hitting areas you can never reach yourself, adding to the mounting pleasure that can overflow at any second now.

It curls its fingers again again again, propelling itself forward one more time, almost embedding its entirety inside you, pummeling the air out of your lungs as the scale tips in favour of your orgasm.

Tightness clamps down on your muscles, thighs clenching, hips rising, toes curling as your orgasm overpowers you. It ebbs away, laving your body in a soporific lull. As you rest your head against the soft pillow, sleep is on the brink of conquering you. Every so often your cunt squeezes around its emptiness, small fragments of your orgasm still thrumming on your tender clit. You feel it withdraw, crawling up your body to push past your pliable lips, feeding the collected wetness for your eager mouth.

You’re never content when your Commander is away on a mission, but if this day is anything to go by, maybe this time won’t be so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> TYSM for inspiring me to write this, Abi, I like to think I had a big brain moment typing this up so fast! Hope you all like it, let me know your thoughts, impressions, anything :)


End file.
